Therapy
by Balanced
Summary: House has a theory.  Takes place shortly after the infarction.


**A/N1: It seems like I heard in an episode recently that House only attended one physical therapy session. I can't remember which one though, so if anyone knows and feels like sharing, that would be great, because it's definitely going to drive me crazy.**

**A/N2: I have been working crazy-long hours at my job, so I've been exhausted this last week, hence no story updates. This new work is a product of sleep-deprivation, and Hilson overload.**

_**Therapy**_

"I'm not going."

Dr. Gregory House, world-renowned diagnostician, celebrated for his ground-breaking articles and medical advancements in the area of infectious disease, stared defiantly at his best friend in a passable impression of a two-year-old mid-tantrum. His angry, narrowed eyes seemed to dare James Wilson to argue with his infallible logic.

Wilson pursed his lips and reflected over the best way to handle his friend's obstinacy. He decided that it had been his experience that manipulation's success rate far out-ranked simple pleading.

"Whatever you want to do." He gave a nonchalant shrug and lowered himself into House and Stacy's overstuffed couch.

"That's not going to work."

"What?"

House crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the oncologist. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Riiight." There was a long moment of silence until he added, "Physical therapy is a fucking waste of time."

Wilson shrugged again. "Whatever you say. You're the one in unimaginable pain."

"It's not that bad."

Then, as though determined to unseat his argument, a sudden jolt of pain shot up his leg. He instinctively jerked forward and grasped his thigh between his hands. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his best friend leap to his feet to get the pills and quickly open them, dropping two into his hand.

"It's not a headache," House gasped out. Two more-much better. He took them from the younger man and swallowed them dry.

"Can we go now," Wilson snapped once House's breathing had returned to normal. He sighed, giving a resigned nod, and tried not to scowl too much as Wilson crossed the room to retrieve the wheelchair.

"Gregory House checking in," the younger man told the nurse at OrthoJersey thirty minutes later.

She glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows. "You're an hour late."

Wilson glared pointedly at the man in the wheelchair. "We know. Sorry."

The nursed passed him the forms, then gently smiled. "Nice of you to bring your boyfriend. How long have you been together?"

Before the oncologist could refute her assumptions House answered from the chair. "A year. He's a doll."

"House," Wilson hissed once he was sitting. "What is wrong with you?"

"I can't believe you're asking me that now."

"You're giving me a headache."

"Just fill out the damn forms."

Wilson returned his attention to the papers on the clipboard in front of him, filling in the answers without difficulty. If House had been the sentimental type he would have appreciated the testament to their friendship.

"Have you ever had sexual intercourse with any member of the bestial community?" Wilson arched an eyebrow questioningly at his best friend.

"It does not say that," House accused, snatching the paperwork and examining it closely.

Wilson grinned self-deprecatingly as the diagnostician frowned at the bad joke. "Torturing a cripple is high comedy," House muttered sarcastically.

The younger man took the forms back and continued answering the questions. The words of the next one somehow seemed strange, arranged the way they were. He tested the sound of them out loud. "Have you ever had sex with a same-sex partner?"

House stared back at him and he felt his heartbeat speed up furiously. Was it suddenly warm in there?" He was pretty sure he was beginning to sweat. No way was his best friend about to admit that he had actually… With a man.

"Would you not love me anymore," House asked quietly. Wilson inhaled sharply and as he tried to come up with an acceptable response he tried to ignore the nugget of emotion that felt like… jealously.

Then House rolled his eyes. "Really? You don't think that would have come up by now?"

He laughed nervously. "You never know."

"True." House peered at him. "Have you?"

If Wilson had felt uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He attempted to roll his eyes too, but got the impression that it came out more like a flinch. "Um, no," was his eloquent reply once he found his voice.

"Are you lying to me?"

"Of course not!"

"Okay, so touchy."

Wilson stood and turned in the completed forms. The nurse told him she would call House when it was his turn, and he found his seat again. Off his friend's continuing gaze he snapped, "What?"

"Why are you so flustered?"

Oh, God, just what he needed. "You're being crazy again." He swallowed hard, carefully averting the other man's eyes. He mentally prepped for the array of questions he was sure to be assaulted with any second now, but they didn't come. Instead, though House didn't stop staring at Wilson, he lapsed into silence.

Until.

"I have a theory."

Though certain he would regret it, Wilson couldn't resist the statement hanging in the air. "What are you talking about?" He shifted his eyes to House, and the moment brown met blue, he felt a strange shiver shoot up his back. It was a scene they knew well, one they practiced every day. One person would slip a toe past that line in the sand, and they would both retreat before it got too messy. Only this time it took a new direction and neither man broke eye contact.

"Gregory House," called a voice from the doorway. House looked up first, and even as his friend's eyes slid away, Wilson's lips formed a small grin.

He got to his feet and pushed House over to the physical therapist, who offered a friendly hand of greeting. To the oncologist's small surprise, House took it, and shook it, if hesitantly.

"I'm Dr. Adam Wells. If you gentlemen want to follow me…" He gestured to the next room, filled with so much exorcize equipment that it resembled a small gym. They stopped just inside, by one of the bikes.

"Okay, Dr. House," Wells began. "I want you to close your eyes."

Shooting Wilson a frustrated look, he obeyed the instructions.

"And picture the final day of physical therapy. Visualize your recovery. What do you see?"

And with those words House's eyes snapped back open, and flicked up to Wilson. "What I see is a ___Reuben_ sandwich with no pickles and a coke. Come on, Wilson, let's get out of here."

Wilson sighed. Knowing it would be futile to object, he simple grasped the handles of the wheelchair and was out the door. After he helped his friend into the car, loaded the wheelchair into the trunk, and sat down in the driver's seat, he noticed House inspecting him. He knew where the conversation was about to go, but he also knew he couldn't be the first to speak. He didn't trust his voice.

"I was asking you a question before," House began. "Do you want to hear my theory?"

Wilson took a deep breath. He knew the words held extra meaning- House was giving him an out, but he was also giving him an in. But ultimately the decision was left with him. Was he ready to begin something, begin _this_? Something that, until 15 minutes ago, had seemed like such a long shot that he had permanently tied himself to another human being? And what _about_ Bonnie? Was he was supposed to forget about their life together? "House." He couldn't continue, couldn't formulate the words. It was unfathomable, not to mention unfair, that House should finally be offering this to him what he had wanted… forever, and he was turning him down. "Could your timing have been worse," he eventually finished. He hoped the other man could hear the implication, the whisper that he couldn't, because of his wife, say. The impulse to reach for House's hand was hard to fight.

House nodded and dropped his gaze. "I get it."

"I wish-"

"Really. I understand."

He tried not to allow his expression to convey his disappointment, but he evidently failed because it wasn't long before House was needling him. "God, Jimmy, try not to look so heartbroken. I'm pretty sure you're the one who rejected me."

"Oh, shut up."

"Really, you should feel completely awful because I intend to spend the next three years crying my school-girlish eyes out over the boy that will never appreciate me."

"House, please. This isn't funny."

House couldn't resist shooting a small grin at his friend. "But I'll be around, though. You know, in case you change your mind."


End file.
